darkness Mr. Lamantia was demonstrating a fluency of discourse which proved that he was contriving to keep at least his mouth above water; and the conversational powers of her rescuer showed themselves to be, in their own way, equally superior to any awe of circumstances.
As he led her across to his own car he talked with a charming lack of embarrassment.
'Over on our left we have the island of Runnymede, where King John signed the Magna Carta in the year 1215. It is by virtue of this Great Charter that Englishmen have always enjoyed complete freedom to do everything that they are not forbidden to do . . .'
The Hirondel was humming on towards London at a smooth seventy miles an hour before she was able to utter her thanks.
'I really was awfully relieved when you came along-though I'm afraid you've lost me my job.'
'Like that, was it?'
'I'm afraid so. If you happen to know a nice man who wants an efficient secretary for purely secretarial purposes, I could owe you even more than I do now.'
It was extraordinarily easy to talk to him-she was not quite sure why. In some subtle way he succeeded in weaving over her a fascination that was unique in her experience. Before they were in London she had outlined to him the whole story of her life. It was not until afterwards that she began to wonder how on earth she had ever been able to imagine that a perfect stranger could be interested in the recital of her inconsiderable affairs. For the tale she had to tell was very ordinary-a simple sequence of family misfortunes which had forced her into a profession amongst whose employers the Lamantias are not so rare that any museum has yet thought it worth while to include a stuffed specimen in the catalogue of its exhibits.
'And then, when my father died, my mother seemed to go a bit funny, poor darling! Anyone with a get-rich- quick scheme could take money off her. She ended up by meeting a man who was selling some wonderful shares that were going to multiply their value by ten in a few months. She gave him everything we had left; and a week or two later we found that the shares weren't worth the paper they were printed on.'
'And so you joined the world's workers?'
She laughed softly.
'The trouble is to make anyone believe I really want to work. I'm rather pretty, you know, when you see me properly. I seem to put ideas into middle-aged heads.'
She was led on to tell him so much about herself that they had reached her address in Bloomsbury before she had remembered that she had not even asked him his name.
'Templar-Simon Templar,' he said gently.
She was in the act of fitting her key into the front door, and she was so startled that she turned around and stared at him, half doubtful whether she ought to laugh.
But the man in the leather coat was not laughing, though a little smile was flickering round his mouth. The light over the door picked out the clean-cut buccaneering lines of his face under the wide-brimmed filibuster's hat, and glinted back from the incredibly clear blue eyes in such a blaze of merry mockery as she had never seen before ... It dawned upon her, against all her ideas of probability, that he wasn't pulling her leg . . .
'Do you mean that I've really met the Saint?' she asked dizzily.
'That's so. The address is in the telephone book. If there's anything else I can do, any time --'
'Angels and ministers of grace!' said the girl weakly, and left him standing there alone on the steps; and Simon Templar went laughing back to his car.
He came home feeling as pleased as if he had won three major wars single-handed, for the Saint made for himself an atmosphere in which no adventure could be commonplace. He pitched his hat into a corner, swung himself over the table, and kissed the hands of the tall slim girl who rose to meet him.
'Pat, I have rescued the most beautiful damsel, and I have thrown a man named Julian Lamantia into the Thames. Does life hold any more?'
'There's some mud on your face, and you're as wet as if you'd been in the river yourself,' said his lady.
The Saint had the priceless gift of not asking too much of life. He cast his bread with joyous lavishness upon the waters, and tranquilly assumed that he would find it after many days- buttered and thickly spread with jam. In his philosophy that night's adventure was sufficient unto itself; and when, twenty-four hours later, his fertile brain was plunged deep into a new interest that had come to him, he would probably have forgotten Ruth Eden altogether, if she had not undoubtedly recognized his name. The Saint had his own vanity.
Consequently, when she called him one afternoon and announced that she was coming to see him, he was not utterly dumbfounded.
She arrived about six o'clock, and he met her on the doorstep with a cocktail shaker in his hand.
'I'm afraid I left you very abruptly the other night,' she said. 'You see, I'd read all about you in the newspapers, and it was rather overpowering to find that I'd been talking to the Saint for three-quarters of an hour without knowing it. In fact, I was very rude; and I think it's awfully sweet of you to have me.'
He sat her down with a dry Martini and a cigarette, and once again she felt the strange sense of confidence that he inspired. It was easier to broach the object of her visit than she had expected.
'I was looking through some old papers yesterday, and I happened to come across those shares I was telling you about- the last lot my mother bought. I suppose it was ridiculous of me to think of coming to you, but it occurred to me that you'd be the very man who'd know what I ought to do about them- if there is anything that can be done. I've got quite a lot of nerve,' she said, smiling.
Simon slipped the papers out of the envelope she handed him and glanced over them. There were ten of them, and each one purported to be a certificate attributing to the bearer two hundred L1 shares in the British Honduras Mineral Development Trust.
'If they're only worth the paper they're printed on, even that ought to be something,' said the Saint. 'The engraving is really very artistic.'
